


Philophobia

by izazov



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 21:20:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3264761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izazov/pseuds/izazov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Would you have come willingly? If I simply asked?"</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Philophobia

Fighting against machines agrees with Thor.

Humans have long since stopped worshiping him as a god, but the passage of time and human evolution have done nothing to diminish the power inside him. The very same power they once prayed to on bended knees.

But Thor has not forgotten. Even now, with all their progress and stubborn determination to grow and push the boundaries of their frail and short lives, they have so much to learn. So much yet to discover. Marshalling his own strength and controlling himself has become natural to him, the habit which sometimes seeped into his fights against human foes. It even cost him more than a few injuries. Of all his closest friends here, Banner and Natasha are the ones who see him for who he truly is. Although for very different reasons.

Thor loves Earth, but, lately, he finds himself more and more yearning for Asgard. Yearning for home. But home is no longer what it used to be. Only his father remains of his family. And he is no more than a shadow of his old self. His mother, gone. And Loki…

Loki may be alive, but Thor’s brother is no more.

So yes, there is a vast deal of satisfaction to be found in fighting machines. There is no need for him to be careful when faced against humanoid-shaped metal contraptions, whose life lies in chips and wires built inside. He can fight without restraint and with freedom, he can get lost inside the moment and let loose all pent up anger, frustration and hurt which have seemingly become a permanent part of his heart.

Ever since Bifrost. Ever since Loki uncurled his fingers around Gungnir’s shaft and fell into the abyss of space. And all that came afterwards only made everything worse, tearing apart what Thor once thought to be a happy family. Courtesy of Loki, there is now vast quantity of darkness and misery inside Thor’s heart, and no matter how numerous these metal things seem to be, they are not nearly enough to sate the bloodlust raging through his veins, fuelled by memories of past and uncertainty of future.

With a corner of his eye, Thor catches sight of Hulk crashing in the middle of the robot army. His arrival is soon followed by a roar and crunching of metal. Thor’s lips curl into a wide, fierce smile as he faces the oncoming wave of robots. He rises Mjölnir high above his head, feeling the lightning surge from around its head, and brings it crashing down – cracking the pavement and sending the robots flying in a wide arc all around him, now reduced to no more than useless bits and pieces of metal.

Thor slowly rises to his feet, his eyes scanning the destruction left in the wake of Mjölnir’s power, the smile on his face turning almost feral. He can change – he has changed; he had no choice but to change – but never so much as to deny that heat of battle is where he feels himself the most. It is in his blood, an intricate part of him.

There is a large crater around him now, and only a few robots are staggering sluggishly toward him, but Thor is already twirling Mjölnir, searching for the next target, and then he feels it.

A trickle of magic – like a ghostly touch of teasing fingers down his spine. _Familiar_ magic. Magic he has felt so many times in battle. Once, it was a reassuring presence at his side or back. Now, it is but a taunt. A mocking reminder of a brother he had loved.

And lost.

Thor’s smile slips from his lips, his jaw clenching as his fingers tighten harder around Mjölnir’s handle. He dodges an attack from one of the remaining robots and sends him flying into the air with a hit from Mjölnir, but his eyes are already frantically scanning the area, searching for this new threat. The rest of the team can handle the machines, Loki… Loki is _his_ to handle.

He is moving forward without a conscious thought, searching for the familiar smirking face. He knows he is being reckless, his blood still heated from the battle behind him, and only growing hotter as the old, persistent anger rouses in the hollow of Thor’s chest. Anger at Loki for destroying everything and time and time again forcing Thor into facing him as an enemy.

Anger at Loki for robbing him of his brother.

It has been quite some time since they last faced off against each other. Thor had even begun hoping Loki had come to his senses. Obviously, he was a fool Loki has always accused him of being. Naïve, sentimental fool.

Clenching his fist tightly, Thor grits his teeth. His vision is sparking red on its edges, his breathing is harsh, his pounding heartbeat drowning out all other sounds as Thor’s hurried steps lead him away from battle. This is a trap, Thor knows it with crystal clarity, and he is rushing into it, blinded by anger and hurt, guided by his heart, not his head. He does not fear Loki, but he knows how dangerous he is. Loki who is tricks and illusions, shadows and magic. And deadly with a dagger in his hand.

And Thor is heedlessly rushing to meet him.

Thor is already far from the battle when he catches a glimpse of green with a corner of his eyes. He turns sharply, but there is no sign of Loki in the narrow back alley. Only a black cat, sitting atop a trash can and staring at him with strange, luminous eyes. It is a bizarre, surreal moment – standing still and staring at a cat as it stares right back at him, while there is a battle raging behind him – and it stretches long enough for Thor to regain some of his lost control. The strange staring match ends when the cat, losing its interest in Thor, turns its head and jumps down, disappearing from view.

Thor clenches his jaw to the point of pain, a faint sound of a mocking laughter echoing inside his mind – real or imagined, Thor could not care less. He almost ceases the chase then – his reason breaking through the red gaze of anger, but he feels that taunting flare of magic again. Inviting him to follow. Challenging him to do so. He can almost see Loki – head cocked to the side, that infuriating, mocking smirk lifting the corners of his lips, green eyes twinkling with malice and defiance.

Clenching his jaw, Thor swallows a growl of helpless frustration. He has never been good at refusing a challenge, and Loki knows it. Possibly better than any other soul. But it is not the knowledge of Loki pulling his strings once again which makes his teeth grit together to the point of almost cracking. It is that undercurrent of excitement which is twisting around inside him, tangled with anger and weariness. Excitement at seeing Loki again. If only to makes sure he is still breathing.

By instinct or chance, Thor rises his head, his entire body growing deathly still as his eyes land on the silhouette of a man, standing on the roof of a nearby building, his coat billowing gently on the wind.

Thor stands still one long moment, his breath catching in his throat, a strange lethargy turning his limbs to stone and his anger to ash. There is nothing he desires less than once again meet Loki in battle. They have already spilled more than enough of each other’s blood. Only… the choice is not his.

As if reading his thoughts, the silhouette moves, offering Thor a small, mocking bow before moving backward and out of Thor’s sight.

It snaps Thor out of his stillness and into action. It is not anger anymore which guides him, only a sense of duty and an almost overwhelming need to be done with this new game of Loki’s. Whatever it is.

He spins Mjölnir fast, and several moments afterwards, he lands on the roof. He tightens his grip on Mjölnir, his eyes scanning the roof in search of any sign of Loki.

“Hello, Thor. Have you missed me?”

Thor moves without thought, turning toward the source of the voice. He blinks, then grimaces when he takes in the sight of Loki, standing but a few feet away, staring at Thor with an almost curious expression, a small, amused smirk playing on his lips.

“Loki-” Thor begins and Loki’s expression turns to that of exasperation, but his smirk widens.

“Honestly, Thor.” Loki cuts him off, shaking his head. “I thought you have moved past this.” Thor frowns, unsure of the meaning, but then Loki takes a step toward him, a faint, green glow shimmering around him as he moves. “Will you never learn?”

Thor does not waste any moment – not even to curse his own foolishness – he turns quickly, but he is too late. Pain – bright and sharp – fills his entire body, down to his last cell. Mjölnir falls from his slack grip, but Thor clenches his jaw and takes a staggering step forward, his eyes searching but not finding real Loki. His breaths come out shallow and uneven and his vision is starting to blur as pain only intensifies – like liquid fire coursing through his veins. He manages to take two more steps before his knees buckle and he sinks down on the ground, landing on his hands and knees.

A wheezing sound escapes his lips as he struggles to get up, and fails. Thor knows Loki is here somewhere, hiding in the shadows and no doubt relishing in Thor’s suffering. Likely, not as much as he relishes the knowledge that it is Thor’s own fault to be writhing helplessly on the ground. But Thor cannot muster sufficient amount of energy to care about such trivial things, all his strength seeping rapidly as the pain progressively grows stronger.

Dark spots are dancing on the edges of his vision and Thor shakes his head in an effort to clear his eyes. He manages to lift his head in time to see an outline of a man – _Loki_ , he cannot see his face, cannot lift his head high enough, but he knows it is him – approach him in slow, measured steps.

Clenching his jaw to stop a groan of pain from escaping his throat, Thor tries to get up on his feet one more time. If he is to die – would Loki truly kill him? – he would do so on his feet, not knees. But that one last effort proves to be too much, even for him. A sharp cry tears from his lips as white-hot stab of pain explodes within his chest, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Thor would laugh if he could, at being brought so low and without much effort, but he is slipping swiftly into unconsciousness, away from pain that is wracking his entire body. The last thing he feels before darkness envelops all his senses is a soft brush of fingers against his face.

******

Slowly, like trudging through molasses, Thor’s consciousness returns. And with it, pain – dull, throbbing pain, mostly concentrated in his skull, but in smaller burst spreading through his entire body.

A groan falls from his lips when he tries – and fails – to lift his head; a heavy bitter taste lingering in his mouth, his throat sandpaper dry. His current state has an uncanny semblance to the first time he overindulged in mead, and then spent the next three days in the foulest of moods, with Loki-

_Loki._

It takes Thor three times to manage the simple act of lifting his head, and keeping it that way, when he, belatedly, realizes that his arms around bound.

Frowning, he takes a look of his surroundings – a cave, possibly, judging by the damp wall of rock he is chained to, and the soft, barely heard streaming of water somewhere to his left, far in the darkness. Thor decides against straining his eyes in search of Loki since the only source of light comes from torches, placed so they are lighting up the small space of Thor’s prison, and keeping everything else in the darkness.

A surge of anger momentarily overpowers the heaviness of his limbs, and, gritting his teeth, Thor uses all his – albeit, diminished – strength to pull on the chains attached to two large rings embedded in the wall of the cave. Thor pulls and pulls, his entire body drawn taut, the rings around his wrists cutting into his flesh, but he ignores the pain, and focuses on the bright-hot flare of fury at the thought of the one who did this to him. His chest is heaving with heavy, panting breaths as he pulls one more time, giving everything he has…

… and fails.

With an angry growl, Thor allows his entire body to sag against the wall behind his back, thumping his head against it in silent frustration, and closing his eyes.

_Damn you, Loki._

“Giving up so soon? I was sure you would last more than this. At least until you dislocated your shoulder.” Loki chuckles lightly. “Midgard truly has the most atrocious effect on you.”

“Find another source of amusement, Loki.” Thor replies, wearily, keeping his eyes closed. If he is to suffer through Loki’s taunts and ridicule, and he has to; at least for the moment, there is no reason to give him satisfaction of goading him into anger. “I am not your toy.”

“Well, your present condition would suggest otherwise.” Loki says, but his voice comes out sharper, darker. “But even when beaten you still cling to arrogance. Do you never get tired of it?”

Perhaps if he were not feeling drained of strength and with a bone-deep weariness seeping into his very soul, he would react more in the manner Loki is expecting. But all he has strength for is a resigned sigh. He does not even have enough energy to open his eyes.

“Do _you_ ever get tired of twisting everything to match your view of things?”

Loki stays silent, but Thor can hear his light steps somewhere to his right. He does not wish to open his eyes, but one of the first things he was thought when he became old enough to hold a sword in his hands had been to keep his eyes wide open in the presence of an enemy.

And he is in the presence of an enemy now. The matter of this enemy wearing the face of his younger brother should be inconsequential by now. Considering all that has happened between them.

But it is not. Thor doubts it ever will.

But still, he opens his eyes. Though, Loki is nowhere to be seen. Still hiding in shadows. Playing a game, as usual, and Thor… Thor now truly has no choice but to go along with it.

“I am not interested in your particular brand of hypocrisy, Odinson.” Loki says finally, his voice sharp as the jagged edges of a shard of ice, and equally as cold. “I have not invited you here to listen to your sermons and lectures about what you deem are my failings.”

Thor blinks, incredulous. Shaking the chains to emphasize his point, Thor releases a sharp bark of laughter.

“ _Invited_ me here?” Thor says, once he stops laughing. “Is that what you call luring me into a trap and then chaining me to a wall?”

“Would you have come willingly?” Loki asks, voice barely louder than a whisper. “If I simply asked?”

Thor opens his mouth, then shuts it with an audible click. It has been a long time since he could claim he knew when Loki was speaking truth, but now, there is something in Loki’s voice which sounds very much like an echo of past times, when Thor trusted that voice more than he trusted any other.

“What is this, Loki?” Thor asks, his hands straining against his bonds as he leans forward, trying to see through the shadows and into the eyes of the one hiding there. Despite his will, hurt and anger have bled into his voice. But he is becoming tired of this; tired of Loki changing the rules of this vicious game they were playing each time Thor has grown accustomed to them. He could not keep switching between the role of a brother and an enemy. No one’s heart was strong enough for that, and his… his was simply becoming weary beyond measure. “You have me, so do you worst, if that is your will, but do not play games with me, I have no will nor strength for them anymore, Loki.”

Squaring his shoulders – as much as he could considering his position – Thor throws a challenging glare at the darkness, but nothing happens. There is no mocking reply or an insult. Not even the barest sound of breathing or the creaking of leather to signal another presence in this cave. Nothing.

Clenching his jaw tightly, Thor suddenly recalls his youth, and how stubbornly patient Loki could be when he set his mind to it. How every plea, every warning, every reason Thor could come up with, simply faltered when met with Loki’s wall of silence.

So no one could be more surprised than Thor when Loki finally speaks.

“Why have you not killed me yet?”

The question – asked in a light, conversational tone – sears through Thor, settling low in the pit of his stomach; a leaden weight of disbelief, anger and hurt.

“What?” Thor asks when he deems his voice steady enough. “What kind of a question is that?”

“A valid question, I would say.” Loki answers, still in that damn light tone, like he is discussing the finer points of swordplay, not his own death. At Thor’s hand, no less. “Even you should have realized by now that our story ends in death. Yours or mine. So I ask you, brother mine.” Wincing at the last word – said so softly, and with so much malice, Thor could almost feel its venom dripping down his skin – Thor nearly misses when a shadow peels itself from the surrounding darkness, and Loki steps into the light, his head cocked to the side, face cool, impassive mask. “Why am I still breathing?”

Thor has not seen Loki in years – only heard mentions of him having involvements with several of Earth’s most prominent villains – so when Loki finally comes close enough for shadows to stop obscuring his face, Thor is taken aback by how thinner he looks now – face gaunt, and skin pale, almost translucent. A shadow of worry – foolishly, recklessly – worms its way into Thor’s chest, but he swallows the words which are hanging on the edge of his lips. Loki would not take them kindly. Loki would not even understand them.

Instead, Thor fixes Loki with a hard stare, but he cannot keep a trace of something bitter and sad out of his voice when he asks: “And why am _I_ still breathing, Loki?”

A touch of annoyance breaks through the cool, hard surface of Loki’s gaze, but it is gone in an instant as Loki chuckles lightly, but it is a thin, hollow sound, with no mirth in it.

“Is it humility I hear, Thor?” Loki asks, coming a step closer, now standing barely a step away, looking at Thor’s face with rapt attention. “Do not be modest. You are annoyingly difficult to kill.”

Long ago, when he only just began using Mjölnir to focus the raw, elemental power coursing through him, he was fascinated by the way the storm started inside of him then it turned outward – into a maelstrom of grey clouds and harsh winds, all culminating with an explosion of light and sound through lightning and thunder. He feels something similar now – a stirring of some yet unnamed storm low in his belly – and even if he can feel the familiar rush of excitement, it is tightly entwined with a sensation of dread, for he knows that this storm is not something he can control.

“I am chained to a wall, completely at your mercy.” Thor says, and even if he has no such intention, his words come out sounding like a challenge. “So I ask you.” Thor says, his eyes fixed firmly on Loki’s, but he cannot force himself to use the word brother in a way Loki uses it. Like a weapon and a taunt. “Why am I not dead yet?”

After that awful first clash on the Bifrost, and what has happened in New York, Loki never again allowed himself to lose his temper when fighting Thor. He taunted, insulted, yes, but it was always controlled, so when a shudder runs through Loki’s body, his eyelashes fluttering closed at Thor’s words, Thor is too stunned to react when Loki, with an angry snarl, slams into him, crowding him against the wall with the weight of his body and a dagger pressed firmly against Thor’s neck.

Thor swallows, carefully, mindful of the cool steel ever so slightly digging into the vulnerable skin of his throat. Loki could kill him now, easily, with a barest flick of his wrist. But that knowledge does not make him angry or frightened, only resigned and infinitely sad.

But if Loki is right, and there is only death on the end of their road, even after everything, Thor would rather have it end this way.

With a sigh, he allows his body to relax, and he closes his eyes. Cowardice, perhaps. Surrender, certainly. But he would rather not have the sight of burning hatred in Loki’s eyes to be the last thing he sees. This way, this way he can pretend. Pretend that it is not his brother’s hand at which he will meet his demise.

A beat passes, then another, and another, but nothing happens, and Thor slowly becomes aware of other sensations but the menacing presence of the dagger against his neck – of the way Loki’s body trembles against his own, even if the hand holding the knife remains steady, of Loki’s harsh, panting breaths.

“Why can’t I kill you?” Loki’s voice comes out strained, anguished, a note of hysteria edging its way into it, and Thor’s eyes snap open.

He regrets the decision immediately.

Loki’s eyes are wide and feverish bright up this close, and, for some reason, Thor recalls that cat from earlier, but that memory melts into another one – a memory for an eternity buried in the back of Thor’s mind, under the dust of time and weight of denial, a memory Thor almost managed to convince himself was not a memory but a dream – foolish and forbidden and, despite everything, sweetly innocent. But he cannot deny it now. Not when he can almost feel the soft texture of Loki’s hair under his fingers and inhale the scent of early spring grass, and hear the sound of their joint laughter.

An innocent, joyful memory. Or it would be were it not for what a playful wrestling match among brothers had awoken that day in Thor. A hunger he had not known before, need to taste his brother’s lips and see would the mead they drank earlier taste even sweeter on his brother’s tongue. To bare his brother’s body and trace every inch of it with his lips and fingers. It was madness and Thor shudders at the thought how close he had come that day to cave into his yearning, stopped only by the wide-eyed shock in Loki’s eyes.

They have never spoken of that moment, both pretending it did not happen, but, by chance or cruelty of the Norns, now Thor recalls it with bright, painful clarity, and that storm he felt coming earlier, crystallizes into its proper shape. Desire.

Reflecting at Thor from among the anger and confusion and resentment in Loki’s eyes. Perhaps it is ironic that Loki, who ever knew him the best and was always the first to figure out everything, now looked lost, when everything was so soul-shatteringly clear to Thor.

But Loki always could lie better. Even to himself.

“And I want to kill you.” Loki whispers, looking haunted, his eyes raw and vulnerable. “I have dreamed of killing you.” The knife digs dipper and Thor can feel a sharp prick of it when it pierces the skin. “See? You bleed. You can be killed. Just like anyone else. So why can’t I kill you?”

Loki has him chained to a wall, and he is holding a knife to his neck, and has done awful things – things he is not even remorseful about –and yet, Thor feels his own heart twist and tear at the unmasked anguish in Loki’s eyes.

“You are not my brother.” Loki says, finally, as the last argument, looking at Thor as if challenging him to deny it. Or confirm it, Thor cannot tell. But he is lost too. Lost inside his own maelstrom of emotions, twisting and turning inside his chest, and even if he knew what to say, he would not be able to force the words past the tight lump of feelings welling inside his throat.

But words are immaterial, and also they are Loki’s weapon, so when Loki starts to pull away, the dagger clattering to the ground, Thor does not think, spurred by sudden panic and helpless dread. He feels like he is once again hanging by the shattered edge of Bifrost, and he can see the decision forming in the depths of Loki’s eyes – decision to let go, to leave him forever, and this time, Thor follows.

The kiss that ensues could be hardly called that – Thor is straining against his bonds to even reach Loki’s lips and he has no way to angle their faces for a proper kiss, but he is desperate and lost and he wants to, once and for all, make Loki see the love he feels for him. Love that never disappeared.

Other than the initial shocked gasp of surprise that Thor readily swallowed, Loki holds himself deathly still, not returning the kiss, but not pulling away either, allowing Thor to ravage his mouth, his hands staying trapped between their bodies.

Pulling against the bonds, Thor releases a low growl of frustration, cursing Loki’s inwardly. He wants to reach out and pull Loki near, wants to fist his fingers into his hair and see is it still as soft as he remembers, and he wants to strip layers and layers of leather from Loki and touch the pale skin underneath. He _wants_ , but this time, unlike that day long, long time ago, he is bound by steel and magic, not by fear and sense of propriety.

Pulling away, Thor rests his forehead against Loki’s, and for one blissfully peaceful moment, they are standing still, their breaths mingling. And for once, Loki’s eyes are clear of resentment and full of shock and wonder and something Thor wants – desperately – to name love, but dares not to.

“You will always be my brother, Loki.” Thor says, softly and earnestly, but the instant he says the words, the peace of the moment shatters, and something shifts in Loki’s eyes, anger and fierce denial coming to surface, and Loki is moving, taking a step back, and Thor knows what will happen even before Loki’s body starts to flicker green. Thor starts to trash against his bonds, a panicked and desperate cry of: “Loki, _no_!” tearing from his throat, but it is already too late.

Loki is gone.

A broken howl leaves his lips and Thor’s entire weight sags against the wall, his eyes drifting closed.

He was so close, so close to break through to Loki, and then, it all fell apart. And now, he has no idea where Loki disappeared to, and he still remains chained and helpless.

Thor has no idea how much time has passed since Loki’s escape – and it was an escape, no matter the fact that Thor was the one in chains – when, suddenly, something snaps, and Thor’s hands fall down, free of their bindings.

Thor’s eyes snap open in confusion and shock, and, with a tiny flutter of hope, he whispers: “Loki?”

But there is no answer, only silence broken by his breathing and the even murmur of the underground water. With a grimace of disgust, Thor wrenches the remaining ring from his left wrist. The metal gives easily, confirming Thor’s suspicion it was magic all along that was keeping him bound, but when he reaches after the second ring, he hesitates, his fingers brushing lightly against the silver surface.

_Would you have come willingly?_

Slowly, Thor pulls his fingers away, clenching them instead into a fist. He leaves the ring around his wrist. A reminder and a vow both. Squaring his shoulders, he takes a deep breath. First, he needs to find a way out of this place, and second… well, the second, he suspects, will take him more time and effort, but he _will_ find Loki, wherever he has gone into hiding.

And when they meet the next time, it will be on Thor’s terms.

Throwing another look at the small circlet around his wrist, Thor allows himself a small smile.


End file.
